


A Study in Empirical Application of Popular Music

by Tysolna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Crack, Humor, Humour, I Blame Tumblr, LITERALLY, Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, Milkshakes, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Tysolna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John plonked the bag down onto the table and looked at Sherlock. "They had the schedule wrong at the clinic", he said by way of explanation, "I didn't need to come in today. Is that strawberry milkshake?" He pointed at the blender which was still whirring merrily away. Sherlock gulped and looked down. "Chopped liver, actually", he muttered and turned the offending blender off, expecting a lecture on the proper use of kitchen utensils. </p><p>---</p><p>Sherlock hears a pop song and to his astonishment, the lyrics seem to be correct. Since he's bored, he decides to experiment - for science!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Empirical Application of Popular Music

There was a queue at the butcher's when Sherlock stepped inside the shop. He hated queuing, but he needed some pig's liver for an experiment. Human liver would have been better, but Molly Hooper had gone off to some tedious Greek island for her summer holidays and her replacement wouldn't let Sherlock into the morgue, let alone near any human remains. To pass the time, Sherlock had made a list of experiments he could do with animal substitutions, and pig organs were near enough to human organs to yield satisfactory results.

The queue was moving slowly as the customers chatted with the shop hands while their wares were weighted and packaged. By the time there were only two more people in front of Sherlock, he had deduced everything about the people in the shop, that one of the scales was off by a good 50 grams in the butcher's favour, and that the male shop assistant favoured that scale. A little light fraud on the side. As if the shop needed that with so many customers, who came to the shop even though there was terrible music playing over the radio, something with a strong, synthetic, floaty beat and a female voice, lots of horrible repetition, inane lyrics, and no sense of it going anywhere much in the way of musicality. Sherlock was sure that John would know the song, but to Sherlock, it was all so much noise.

Finally it was Sherlock's turn, and he ordered two pig livers, a calf tongue, and a couple of sausages for John (Sherlock didn't eat sausages; he knew what was in them), all the while disregarding any attempts at small talk with a disdainful look. He paid, hurried out of the shop and home, where he put his purchases into the fridge and grabbed his violin to banish that ridiculous song from his mind. But even an hour of intense Tchaikovsky was unable to oust the insidious little bit of pop from his inner ear, and it also resisted all attempts at deletion. Annoyingly, irritatingly, worryingly so.

 

Resigned to the fact that there would be an insipid pop song scurrying about in his mind unless he concentrated on something else, Sherlock prepared his first experiment. He took one of the livers out of the fridge and cut it up into little pieces which he then put into his blender - which was actually John's blender, but John wouldn't know that Sherlock was using it for his experiments if he cleaned it afterwards and put it back where he found it. The blender whirred satisfactorily, reducing the liver to a bloody pulp. Sherlock scooped half of the mush into one of the plastic containers with a big red "E" on the lid, as John had insisted that if Sherlock were to keep ingredients for his experiments in the fridge they should be marked as such. To the liver mush remaining in the blender, Sherlock added some drops of one chemical, a scoop of white substance, and some water. Then he closed the lid and started the blender again, on a slow setting this time, and observed as the liquid started frothing while reddish strings coagulated to the bottom, twirling around the blender blades like liver candyfloss. Excellent.

The door to the hallway opened and John came in carrying a Tesco's bag. Sherlock looked up in surprise. He hadn't expected John to come home for another two hours at least. John plonked the bag down onto the table and looked at Sherlock. "They had the schedule wrong at the clinic", he said by way of explanation, "I didn't need to come in today. Is that strawberry milkshake?" He pointed at the blender which was still whirring merrily away. Sherlock gulped and looked down. "Chopped liver, actually", he muttered and turned the offending blender off, expecting a lecture on the proper use of kitchen utensils.

John however didn't miss a beat. "Right. Well, I expect you to clean it thoroughly once you're done because I'm planning to make milkshakes with that thing, and they're definitely better than yours." He unpacked his mushrooms, eggs, whole milk, and a carton of strawberries and turned to put them into the fridge.

Sherlock stared at John's back, dumbfounded. The incessant pop tune wormed its way into the forefront of his brain once more, and the female voice intoned, "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard"... Granted, he hadn't made a milkshake per se, but as soon as he had, John had appeared. Coincidence? Sherlock did not believe in coincidences.

 

It was probably a testament to Sherlock's current level of boredom that he immediately started to plan a series of experiments involving milkshakes and the appearance of various men.

 

He bought himself a one-serving-size blender. If these experiments were to be conducted scientifically, he'd have to first get the correct equipment for precise measurements, and a one-serving-size blender would help to eliminate one of the variables. What Sherlock planned to vary were the ingredients.

The next day after John had gone to work, Sherlock sat down and prepared the first true milkshake, chocolate flavour. Cold milk, cocoa powder. Chocolate syrup. A scoop of vanilla ice cream. The blender whirred to life, whipping the mixture to perfection, the appetising smell of chocolate and vanilla emanating from the machine.

The doorbell rang. Sherlock turned the blender off and went to the door, curious to see who was there. The postman looked up at him. "Parcel for Mr Holmes? I need a signature, please." Sherlock went down the stairs, signed the postman's electronic pad with a scribble - these things were unintelligible anyway - and went to open the parcel. Beautiful, it was the new hemocytometer, portable glove box and the vials he had ordered online. He went into the kitchen to stow away the supplies when he saw the blender.

The milkshake had brought the postman. Sherlock smiled, got himself a glass, poured the milkshake and drank it, satisfied.

 

He decided on a banana milkshake (no ice cream) the next day. Peeling and cutting up the banana was strangely satisfying. The banana went into the blender, together with a dash of lemon juice, sugar, and cold milk. Blend. The banana went mushy, then started to mix with the milk into a frothy liquid. The doorbell rang in a very particular manner. Sherlock grinned and went to open the door. A client.

Half an hour later, the client had been expedited out of 221B, after Sherlock had declared the man's story ridiculous, harebrained and ludicrous, because who in their right mind would think themselves followed around London by a loon - the bird, not the person. After the flustered ex-client had shut the door with a bang, causing Mrs Hudson to shout something about neighbours, Sherlock picked up the by now de-frothed milkshake. He drank a sip straight out of the blender and made a face. Neither the taste nor the slightly slimy mouthfeel of the milkshake agreed with him. He went to pour the shake down the toilet, then rinsed out both the blender and his mouth. Never again banana milkshakes, he told himself.

 

Sherlock had planned to make blueberry milkshake next. He loved blueberries. He loved their colour, the slight pop they made when he pressed one between his tongue and palate, the tangy-sweet taste. By the time he came home from the shops, he realised that he had finished the whole punnet. Luckily he had also bought raspberries, so he used those instead. Berries into the blender, a bit of sugar, scoop of the vanilla ice cream, milk, blend. The colour was pleasing, as was the preparation of the shake. Almost as pleasing as his usual experiments, somehow. Sherlock briefly wondered why this was so.

"Making milkshakes now, little brother?" The whirring of the blender had disguised the sound of Mycroft coming into the flat. Sherlock didn't let himself be goaded. "It's for an experiment", he said and stood up, facing his brother. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

Instead of answering, Mycroft Holmes looked around the flat with a disdainful curl to his lips. "I guess I should not be surprised. After all, you are two bachelors living together. But I was sure that with his military background, Doctor Watson would be a little more orderly where his living accommodations are concerned."

Sherlock frowned. "We can't all have our personal butlers and cleaning ladies. Do you actually have a reason to be here, Mycroft, or is this a social visit?"

Mycroft turned to face his brother. "You know my time does not allow for 'social visits'."

Sherlock just managed not to roll his eyes. If anyone could speak with quotation marks, it was Mycroft.

"There have been... advancements... in a case you were looking into for me a while ago. I thought you would be interested." Mycroft opened his briefcase, drew out a file and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock took it and briefly leafed through the contents. "Also", Mycroft continued, "I have been told that the CCTV cameras in Baker Street have recently developed an uncommon and surprising fault. I'm sure you had nothing to do with this, Sherlock, but if you did, please remember that CCTV is there for actual reasons beyond your perceived surveillance of yourself and Doctor Watson?"

Sherlock went over to a stack of miscellaneous magazines and papers and put Mycroft's file on top of them. "I'll be sure to let whoever is messing with the cameras know that you disapprove, Mycroft, if and when I meet them. Thank you for the file. If that is all...?"

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with that peculiar half-sigh which Sherlock always found annoying ever since he was six. "Yes, Sherlock. I'll leave you to your ... milkshake. Please give my regards to Doctor Watson." He turned once more to survey the dishevelled flat while tapping the tip of his umbrella on the floor, sighed again and left.

 Sherlock made a note in his lab book: "Raspberries - avoid."

 

Of course John had noticed Sherlock's increased consumption of milkshakes. He might not be as all-perceiving as Sherlock, but he knew what was going on in his own flat, and the continued presence of fresh milk in the fridge was just one indication. But John had decided early on not to mention anything. He knew that Sherlock was particular about food, so in his opinion anything Sherlock was eating was per definition a good thing. That the reason for Sherlock's milkshakes was to test a theory about truth in pop music lyrics had not even remotely crossed his mind.

 

Sherlock became a little experimental with the ingredients, especially since they all yielded sometimes surprising results. Today, he chose to add fresh ginger and a generous dollop of honey to the milk-and-ice-cream base. He was so pleasantly surprised by the sharp, sweet, invigorating taste that he didn't hear the doorbell ring, and Mrs Hudson had to let the man in.

This time, the client had come with a truly intriguing and brilliant case which occupied Sherlock and John for almost a week, until they had uncovered the elaborate hoax involving two pairs of identical twin brothers, an attempted burglary, and a brace of faked signatures, and had in the course of their investigations managed to prevent a would-be suicide thanks to John's quick medical intervention. All in all, it was a success, and a case which John typed up in his usual style, garnering Sherlock's usual critique.

The note next to "honey and ginger" read "serendipitous hit".

 

Of course, at the root of all successful experiments was repeatability of results, as Sherlock well knew. He re-read his early notes and since John was out, not expected back any time soon, he decided to repeat the first lucky experiment. He went out, bought a piece of pig liver, diced it and put it into the blender. Even if this didn't work, he would be able to use the blended liver for further studies into various tests on fresh, frozen and decomposing organ matter.

The blender hummed to life, pulping the liver. Repeating his first experiment exactly, Sherlock then added various chemicals and started the blender again.

He heard the street door open and steps on the stairs. He stopped the blender and looked towards the kitchen door, where a disgruntled and slightly unfocussed John appeared.

John made his way into the kitchen with a nod towards Sherlock and started to make tea, muttering something about stupid scheduling, stupid nurses and bloody stupid tube strikes. Sherlock sat looking at the blender, at John, back to the blender, and started grinning. John switched on the kettle and turned to Sherlock. "What are you grinning at, then?" he asked grumpily.

"It works, John", Sherlock said, becoming more and more excited by the second. "It actually works. It makes no sense at all, but I've experimented, and empirical results show that there has to be some scientific basis to it. It works!"

John frowned. "That's good, yeah", he said. "What works?"

Sherlock looked at him with a mixture of delight and annoyance. "The milkshakes, John! The milkshakes!"

John nodded. "Right." He turned as the kettle boiled, then carefully made himself a cup of tea. Picking up the mug and warming his fingers on it, he looked back to Sherlock.

"I'm very glad the milkshakes work for you, Sherlock. I've noticed you made a lot of them. Can't say I mind, now that you're using your own blender. Is that chopped liver again by the way?"

"Yes!" Sherlock beamed. "It is! Don't you see? Don't you get it? The milkshakes bring all the men!"

John stood stunned, his tea mug forgotten in his hands. "Sherlock", he said slowly, "are you trying to tell me that..."

"Exactly!" Sherlock interrupted. "I heard that song and found it terribly annoying at first, but the lyrics seem to be correct. There has to be a reason why, and I will figure it out, but every time I make a milkshake - or a liver shake in your case, twice now - someone comes in. My milkshakes", and Sherlock grinned broadly again, "bring all the boys to the yard."

"Oh hell." John wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or bury his head in his hands. Neither reaction seemed entirely appropriate though, so he decided he might as well play along. He took his tea and sat down at the kitchen table. "So. Tell me about it."

Sherlock did, in detail, consulting his lab book, and John felt increasingly amused until his grin rivalled Sherlock's and there was a sparkle in his eyes. Finally, Sherlock sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded. "Empirical study, repeatable results. Science, John."

John chuckled. "And I'm chopped liver, right?" Sherlock looked slightly embarrassed.

"Never mind, you can explain that to me later. For science, then, Sherlock. The song says something of bringing all the boys to the yard, right? Let's test this. Make a milkshake that brings Scotland Yard."

Sherlock considered this for a moment while John sipped his tea. What taste, what beverage would he associate with Scotland Yard?

"Of course!" he shouted. "Coffee!" Sherlock jumped up, got out the milk, ice cream, and a jar of instant coffee that they kept for emergencies. "This should do it." He went to empty the blender of liver, taking care to put the bloody mix in an airtight container for later, then rinsed the blender carefully with hot water until he was satisfied that it was clean. He used some of the hot water from the kettle to dissolve three spoonfuls of coffee powder, then returned to the table. John was following his every move, grin firmly fixed on his face.

Sherlock started his milkshake preparation. He stirred some milk into the coffee to cool it down, then added it to the blender together with a generous scoop of ice cream, a touch of vanilla, and more milk, then turned the blender on.

"Whatever happens", John said, "at least we'll have a good milkshake to share. That looks lovely."

 

"Sherlock?" A familiar voice called from the stairwell as someone hurried up the steps, taking two at a time. Sherlock looked at John over the top of the blender, smug satisfaction etched in his face. "In here!", he called out to Lestrade as the DI stepped into the flat.

“Sherlock, there is.... What the hell is going on? John, are you alright?”

John had buried his face in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. Sobbing noises came from beneath his hands, which worried Lestrade. “John...?” He turned to Sherlock. “Sherlock, what happened? What did you do now?”

Sherlock looked up at Lestrade, his face a picture of affronted innocence. “Why do you suppose that I did anything?”

“Because, Sherlock,” Lestrade answered, “whenever I see anyone in your vicinity overcome with emotion, it's usually...” A guffaw interrupted him. John looked up, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Unable to speak, he pointed at Lestrade with a shaking finger, then at the milkshake sitting innocuously in the blender. By now Lestrade looked utterly confused. John waved at him to sit down, wheezing with the effort. Sherlock was watching John with a bemused and somehow pleased expression.

Lestrade sat. John struggled for breath and tried his best to calm down, while Sherlock and Lestrade looked on and waited. Finally, John was able to speak again.

"Greg", he said and giggled. "Ah... Greg? You know that song about the milkshakes, yes? The Kelis one?" Lestrade nodded, smiling despite himself. John's mirth was infectuous. "Sherlock has", John continued with difficulty. "Oh... Sorry, Greg... Sherlock has been making milkshakes to see if the lyrics... Oh God... If the lyrics are true... And it seems that it works... Sherlock, please tell him, I can't..." He dissolved into giggles again.

Sherlock delivered the explanation in his usual rapid-fire deduction style, ending with, "Each type of milkshake brings a different kind of man. John asked me to make one that brings the yard - Scotland Yard. I made coffee milkshake, and here you are."

Lestrade was still caught between astonishment, doubt and amusement. "I... think I see. Your say your milkshakes, Sherlock, bring all the boys to the yard." Sherlock nodded.

"Keep doing that then", Lestrade said, "and tell me when you've hit on the milkshake that brings in criminals. We'll have you make some, then put it in a glass under a box propped up with a stick. That'll make our job of catching crooks a hell of a lot easier. Since you are the only one I know who can do this."

Sherlock's smile was beatific as he said, "I could teach you, Lestrade, but I have to charge."

 

The laughter of three men could be heard all the way to the butcher's shop.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The fic was inspired [this](http://qthewetsprocket.tumblr.com/post/75046694844/lokis-army-at-221b-i-bet-sherlock-took-the-song) post on tumblr, which basically wanted Sherlock to take the song "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard" seriously. This is the result.
> 
> Thanks go to lokis-army-at-221b for coming up with the idea, qthewetsprocket for Scotland Yard and glasses under boxes, and Antidiogenes for making me apply bum to seat and fingers to keyboard.
> 
> NB: Yes, I do realise that the song by Kelis is not pop, but rather contemporary R&B, but Sherlock doesn't compartmentalise anything that isn't classical music.


End file.
